


I'll be your soldier

by Elisexyz



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bruises, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Violence, Pre-Season/Series 01, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “Where did all those bruises come from?”





	I'll be your soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tumblr prompt: [“Where did all those bruises came from?” + Hookfire](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/181780566929/would-you-be-okay-with-writing-where-did-all). I had never written something solely about the two of them before (although I kept sneaking them into my Swanfire fics, so it was probably a matter of time), it was fun! Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=994enigQAWA).

“Hold on a second,” Killian says, moving a step closer and holding up his hand, a deep frown on his face.

Baelfire doesn’t seem all too happy and he’s quick to finish putting his clothes on. “What?” he asks, in an eager tone that’s more than quite suspicious.

“Where did all those bruises come from?” Killian asks, anger already burning in the pit of his stomach. Whoever did that is a dead man. A very dead man. Pan’s habit of ripping off people’s shadows will look like child’s play compared to what he will do to them.

“I fell,” he replies, curtly, adding a nonchalant shrug for good measure.

Killian scoffs. “I wasn’t born yesterday, boy. _Those_ aren’t from a fall.” Baelfire gives him a defiant look, with that same fire that he loved so much in Milah, and he isn’t sure if the thought makes him soften or flares up his anger even further. “Let me see,” he adds, gesturing for him to come closer.

Unsurprisingly, Baelfire doesn’t comply.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt anymore,” he complains, crossing his arms and taking a step back. Unfortunately for him, the movement makes him wince slightly, and Killian remembers that he has been oddly stiff in his movements.

“ _Baelfire_ ,” he says, forcefully. “Let me see, that’s an order.”

For a moment it looks like he might just protest again, but in the end he puffs, annoyed, and he gives in. “I just fell,” he grumbles once again, as he takes off the shirt that he gave him so that he wouldn’t have to keep walking around in a robe.

Killian steps closer to examine the damage, and for a few seconds he can’t even _think_ straight, busy as he is seeing red and plotting murder: there are bruises all over his torso, and if he had to throw a wild guess he’d say they are kicks.

“Who was it?” he growls, and the note of fear on Baelfire’s face probably means that his rage is showing. Good, whoever it was will spend his last moments shitting his pants.

“Nobody,” Baelfire insists. “I fell.”

There’s no bloody way he’s going to stand for that. “Did you by any chance _fall_ on someone’s boot?” he asks, harshly. “Stop lying and tell me who it is so I can see that they regret it.”

“No,” he replies, stubbornly.

What the hell is his _problem_? Is he just trying to be difficult?

Perhaps he was threatened? Maybe he’s simply smart enough to know that he won’t gain the crew’s favour by being a snitch, but he should also be aware that Killian wouldn’t let them hurt him— except he hasn’t been particularly good at that up until now, apparently.

“Alright, fine,” he finally says. “I’ll talk to Smee, he’ll find out for me.” Baelfire gives him a wide-eyed look that he doesn’t really know how to read. “Come on, get dressed,” Killian adds, as he turns around, set on finding Smee: even if he doesn’t know anything, he can sniff around and tell him what he finds.

“No, wait!” Baelfire stops him, quickly grabbing his arm.

Killian turns towards him, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Baelfire opens his mouth to say something, then he closes it. “I— are you going to—to kill him?” he finally asks, tentatively.

“With my bare hands,” he replies, maybe a bit more harshly than intended. It’d help if the boy put the shirt back on, probably.

There’s a pause, and Baelfire hasn’t let go of his arm. His fingers twitch. “Please, don’t?” he finally lets out, his voice thin. Killian isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be a plead or a question or what, he just knows that it makes no sense.

“Why the hell not?” he frowns, turning around so that he can face him better.

Baelfire takes a step back, his eyes falling on the ground as he hesitates. “I just don’t want you to.”

“I gathered as much, what I’m wondering is _why_.”

A tense silence falls between them, and Baelfire doesn’t seem to really want to answer. In the end, he swallows visibly and takes a deep breath. “My papa did that,” he explains, grimacing like saying it out loud is physically hurting him. “He—he hurt people who hurt me. A man scratched my knee by accident, and—and he turned him into a snail and stepped on him. I tried, but I—I couldn’t stop him.” Baelfire raises his eyes on him, and the plead his pretty clear on his face even before he voices it. “Please, don’t do that.”

His first reaction is a wave of disgust mixed with anger at being compared to the Dark One, because the notion that there might be something similar living within them is one that his body seems to strongly reject.

Then he manages to ground himself a little, taking a sharp breath so that he can maybe come up with something to reassure Baelfire, who doesn’t seem particularly happy with his father’s actions: he doesn’t want to hurt him any further, but he can’t just let this go unpunished. The other members of the crew might get the idea that this kind of behaviour is acceptable, he needs to make a _statement_.

“Bae, this was no accident,” he finally says, gently.

Baelfire takes a sharp breath. “I know, but it doesn’t matter,” he replies, firmly.

“I can’t just let it go unpunished,” he tries to insist. “And a slap on the wrist won’t do, you get that?”

“I just hadn’t cleaned the pots properly, if I do that he won’t—”

“Pots?” Killian interrupts, his eyebrows shooting up. He has had Baelfire help in the kitchen, a couple of times, so that he gets a taste of pretty much everything that needs to be done on the ship, kitchen duty included. “So it was Sullivan,” he states. He’s a decent cook, but not irreplaceable. He can strangle him and just put someone else in the kitchen, it’s not like they eat quality meals anyway.

Baelfire looks like he just ate something really nasty. “I didn’t mean to—” he protests, urgently, stumbling on the words. “Please, don’t kill him,” he repeats, and at his pleading expression Killian’s stomach twists unpleasantly. This is a very bad moment to grow back a conscience.

“Bae—” he begins, his tone already softer.

“Please,” he insists.

Killian stares at him for a few moments, and Baelfire doesn’t drop his gaze. He looks fairly desperate to get a yes out of him. He sighs heavily.

“ _Fine_ ,” he finally gives in. “I won’t kill him. But I _will_ throw him in the ship’s hold and leave him there for as long as I see fit.” Which probably means until the end of his miserable days.

Baelfire’s whole face lightens up, and Killian has to supress a smile.

“Thank you!” he says, his tone edging on disbelief and his smile widening so much that it seems to go from ear to ear. “Thank you!”

Baelfire launches himself forward, wrapping his arms around his torso in a burst of enthusiasm, and Killian snorts, amused, clumsily patting his back in return.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, lad,” he mumbles, the corners of his mouth shooting up.

(None of this means that he isn’t going to pay Sullivan a little visit in the middle of the night and make him regret ever laying a hand on his boy. Baelfire will never have to know.)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


End file.
